“What have you brought me?” she inquired.
Shahrazad reached out and placed a length of cloth into her mother’s hand. It was silk as fine and sheer as gossamer, the same color blue as the stones that lined the fountain. Shahrazad watched as Maju brushed her fingers across the surface of the cloth, and she felt the hair rise on her arms.
For she knew that woven into the cloth so finely that only the hands of the storyteller could discover it, there was a tale waiting to be told. And she knew that this was the true storyteller’s art. Not the speaking aloud, for that was something anyone might do, but the deciphering of the tale woven into the cloth. A secret known only to the drabardi.
“Ah!” Maju said when she was finished. “You have chosen well, my little one.”
Shahrazad made a sound that might have been a laugh and plopped down beside her mother on the edge of the fountain.
“It was hardly a choice,” she said. “That was the only piece of cloth in the whole trunk.”
“That’s as it should be,” Maju replied with a smile. “For it means that this story is yours. Will you hear it?”
“I will,” said Shahrazad.
“Then I will give you its name,” said her mother. “It is called …”
Two
THE TALE OF THE GIRL WHO WISHED TO BE WHAT SHE WAS NOT
“Once,” Maju the Storyteller murmured as her fingers whispered across the silk, “there lived a girl who was very unhappy, for it seemed to her that no one loved her for what she was.
“Though she was the child of a king—a princess—she was not prized. For in a land that valued beauty above all other attributes, she was not beautiful. In a land where only men could rule, she was not a son. And so it seemed to her that although others looked upon her all day, they never saw her worth. Instead, they saw only their own disappointment.
“Yet there was one place in the palace of her father where the girl was happy. That was a small pool set beneath a pomegranate tree in the corner of a secluded garden.”
At this, Shahraze day, whenad stirred, but the voice of Maju the Storyteller never faltered.
“She would sit beside it all day, watching the goldfish glide along the bottom. One day, when she was feeling particularly sad, the girl spoke her thoughts aloud:
“‘Oh, lovely fish!’ She sighed, ‘How I wish that I were one of you! For then I would have a place in the world, and I would be admired, for all who look upon you exclaim over your loveliness.’
“Now, the princess was young, and so she did not know that it is not always wise to speak your innermost thoughts aloud. For you never know who might be listening. On this day, just as the princess was bemoaning her fate, a djinn was passing by. No sooner did he hear the princess’s words than he swooped down and appeared to her in the garden.
“At the sight of a djinn suddenly materializing out of thin air, the princess was understandably alarmed. She leaped to her feet, prepared to flee. But the djinn spoke, and at his words, she halted.
“‘Do not fear me, princess,’ said the djinn. ‘For, I have the power to grant the first wish of your heart.’
“‘Tell me what it is then,’ said the princess. For she knew that djinns did not always deal fairly with mortals.
“‘That is simple,’ the djinn replied, ‘You wish to be a goldfish in that pool of water—a thing which is easily done. But because you are a princess, I will do more. I will grant you two wishes instead of merely one. The first will transform you, as you desire.’
“The heart of the princess had begun to beat so hard she feared her chest would split wide open before she could speak.
“‘And the second?’
“‘Will return you to your true form once more. You have only to say the word and all shall be as I have spoken.’
“‘What is the word?’ asked the princess.
“The djinn pronounced a word of great magic. The princess repeated it, savoring the way the strange syllables rolled across her tongue. In the next instant her voice had ceased, for she was a girl no longer, but a beautiful goldfish swimming in the water.
“The djinn stared down at her for a moment, ‘Lovely princess, I cannot leave you yet,’ he murmured. ‘For I would see how this wish spins out.’ So he made himself invisible and hid himself in the branches of the pomegranate tree. Though a djinn is many things, he is curious, above all else.
“Several days went by. No one seemed to notice that the princess was missing. The djinn kept watch over the fish in the pool from the branches of the pomegranate tree. He thought that he had done his work well, for the princess was the loveliest color gold of all.
“On the fourth day following the princess’s transformation, the djinn’s vigilance had its reward. As he watched, invisible, from the branches of the tree, two courtiers appeared at opposite ends of the secluded garden. Ah! When they saw each other, great were their exclamations of pleasure and false surprise!
“One, who was no less than a prince—the king’s designated heir and cousin to the princess—gestured the other over to the pool. He seated himself at the water’s edge, trailing his fingers in the water. Thinking he might have food, the goldfish gathered around. But the young prince had no thought to feed anything other than his own ambition.
“‘All is in readiness?’ he inquired, being careful to keep his voice low.
“His companion nodded. ‘All is as you have commanded, Highness,’ he replied. ‘Tomorrow, when you walk here in the early morning with the king, I will be hidden in the branches of this tree, which stretches out above the pool. At your signal, I will fall upon him and hold his head beneath the water until he moves no more.’
“‘Then I will be king,’ the young prince said. And you shall have your reward.’
“And so the conspirators embraced each other and departed.
“Now, when the princess heard this plan, she was greatly alarmed. For, though the djinn’s magic word had transformed her outward shape to that of a fish, she was still a girl in her heart and mind. A young girl who loved her father. The princess swam round and round the pool, trying to think of a way to warn him.
“Should she speak the magic word now? If she did, she would be herself again. She could go to her father at once. But what if he refused to see her? For the bitter truth was that the king did not often have time for his daughter. Of all those who saw the princess only for what she was not, her father was chief among them. Had he even noticed she was gone?
“No, the princess thought. She would wait until the morrow. The moment before the conspirators prepared to strike, she would speak the magic word, be restored to her true form, and warn her father. He would have no choice but to believe her then. She would prove her worth at last, and her father would see how much she loved him.
“And so the princess passed a troubled night and waited for the morning.
“Early the next day, just at dawn, there came a rustle of garments as the first conspirator crept into the garden. He climbed the branches of the pomegranate tree, hiding himself among the leaves. The princess bided her time.
“Soon she heard the murmur of low voices as her father and her cousin entered the garden. Still, the princess did nothing. She waited as her father approached the pond, gazing down into its still water.
“Now! the princess thought. She tried to speak the magic word that would bring about the transformation. To her horror, she discovered she could not! For she had no tongue to speak the word. Goldfish do not speak as young girls do. And the princess was just a goldfish, swimming in a pond.
“Desperate now, she sought a way, any way, to save her father. In a frenzy, she swam around the pool.
“‘Mercy!’ exclaimed the king, ‘What ails the fish this morning?’ In the next instant he drew back in alarm. For he had seen a face not his own, and not the princes, reflected from above in the water. It could only be that someone was hiding in the pomegranate tree. Someone who wished to do him harm.
“When the pri
nce saw the king draw back, he betrayed his true weak nature. He panicked in fear lest all should be lost. And so he also revealed his treachery. From his sash, he drew forth his knife.
“‘Traitor!’ cried the king as the young man set upon him. The prince was young and strong, but he proved no match for the fury of his uncle. They fought bitterly, and the king’s robe was torn. But at last the king knocked the knife from his nephew’s hand and swept his feet from under him, sending him splashing into the water. The prince struck his head upon the stones that lined the pool. His head slipped beneath the water and did not rise.
“But the king’s danger had not passed. Seeing the young prince dispatched, the prince’s fellow conspirator decided to risk all. With a great cry, he sprang from the tree, his knife pointed at the king’s unprotected back. But before he could strike home, the fish that had first attracted the king’s attention leaped from the water. Up, up, up it sailed, in a perfect arc of gold. The conspirator’s knife pierced it clean through.
“The would-be assassin fell into the pond, as had the prince before him. There, he met the fate he had planned for another. For the king held his head beneath the water until he moved no more. But the fish fell to the stones of the garden, mortally wounded, and, as it did, the princess was returned to her true form.
“The sight of his daughter, her heart’s blood seeping out onto the cobblestones, gave the king a greater shock than any assassin’s knife.
“‘My daughter! What magic is this?’ he cried.
“But by then, the princess was beyond speech. She had given up her life. And so it was the djinn who answered for her. Making himself visible, he appeared before the king and replied, ‘O King, it is mine. I heard your daughter, grieving by the side of this pool, and offered her the first wish of her heart. She thought her wish was to be a goldfish in this pool. But what the heart of your daughter truly wished above all else was that she might have value in your eyes. She has paid for this wish in the manner you see.
“‘And so tell me, O King. What value do you place upon your daughter now?’
“So speaking, the djinn bowed before the king and departed.
“Great was the king’s sorrow when he heard the djinn’s words. For, too late, he recognized his daughter’s true value. She had loved him so much she had given up her life for him, while others thought only of his possessions and would have taken his life from him.
“The king had the princess’s body laid to rest with all the pomp and ceremony he could command, and declared an entire year of mourning. In her honor, he erected a statue in the pool she had loved so well.
“A fish, its eyes the blue of lapis lazuli. Each and every scale a piece of beaten gold. And from its mouth poured water as clear and sparkling as diamonds. Such was her value, for such had been the strength and purity of her love.”
Maju’s fingers stopped their movement among the silk. “Well, Shahrazad,” she said. “What do you make of this story?”
Shahrazad stayed silent. “Never trust the word of a djinn?” she asked after a moment.
Maju chuckled. “Sound advice,” she replied. “Your mind is quick, as always. And your heart? What does it say?”
Shahrazad sighed and put her head upon her mother’s shoulder. “That I should know my own value and never seek to be what I am not.”
The storyteller reached to stroke her daughter’s hair. “Well spoken,” she said softly. “Your heart is a strong one, my Shahrazad. With a heart such as yours, many wishes are granted, even those that seem impossible. Remember well what I have spoken.”
“I will, Mother,” promised Shahrazad. She felt her mother’s fingers whisper along her hair. Could Maju read her the way she read the cloth? Shahrazad wondered. She lifted up her head and felt her mother’s touch drop away.
“I will always be different, won’t I?”
“You will always be different,” Maju replied.
“And they will never like me.”
“I cannot say what another will or will not do. No one can,” answered the storyteller.
Abruptly Shahrazad got to her feet, her expression set. “Then I will learn to live without them.”
Maju tipped her face up, as if she could really see her daughter’s determined face as it stood over her.
“Do you think that such a thing is possible?”
Shahrazad snorted and turned away. “I don’t know yet. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
At Shahrazad’s sharp reply, Maju made a tsking sound with the tip of her tongue. She got to her feet in her turn, and the piece of silk she had been holding fell from her lap and floated down into the water. It settled on the surface for no more than a moment.
But in that moment, those with eyes to truly see would have beheld an image they had not noticed before. A fish, outlined in intricate stitches of shimmering gold. Then the silk sank beneath the surface of the water like sugar melting into coffee, and this fish became as any other fish in any other pond.
“I am not so sure I like your story, Maju,” Shahrazad informed her as she turned to take her mother by the arm. “That djinn tricked the princess in more ways than one. She only got two wishes. Everyone knows you always get three.”
“O, bah!” Maju exclaimed. “I waste my talent on you. Such things happen only in fairy stories. Have I not always said so?”
Shahrazad was laughing as they left the garden.
For many moments after their departure, the garden stayed still and silent. Then, there came an agitation high in the pomegranate tree, as if its branches had caught a sudden wind and held it. A face appeared amid the leaves. A youth several years older than Shahrazad shimmied down the trunk and dropped to the ground. Without hesitation, he moved to the pool, and caring nothing for his fine robes, he thrust his arms into the water, all the way to the bottom.
Although he searched until he was wet from head to foot, he could find no trace of the cloth the storyteller had left behind. Finally he simply sat beside the pool, staring down at the fish moving lazily in the water and tried to count them.
This youth’s name was Shahrayar.
Three
SORROW
Not long after what I have just related, a great sorrow came to Shahrazad and her father. Maju the Storyteller fell sick of a fever that would not abate. No healer’s potion would make the fever fall. For many days she lay upon her sickbed never moving, never speaking, with her blind eyes closed. Then, one day, she summoned all her strength, opened her eyes for one last time, and called her daughter to her bedside.
Shahrazad came at her mother’s bidding. She sat beside her for many hours. In those hours Maju told her daughter many things, and Shahrazad came to understand much that had been painful and troubling. But what passed between them, what Maju spoke and what Shahrazad answered, Shahrazad would keep to herself for many years to come.
Toward evening, Maju closed her eyes once more. At this, Shahrazad left the chamber, carrying in her arms the ebony chest that had been the only possession her mother had brought with her when she married her father. No sooner had Shahrazad reached her own chambers and placed the chest beneath the window than Maju the Storyteller took one long breath and released it slowly. And with that, she died.
The moment her mother breathed her last, Shahrazad collapsed upon the floor. For many days she lay as Maju had, without moving, without speaking, her eyes closed fast. The vizier was truly in despair, for it seemed to him that the fever that had claimed the wife he loved would now also steal away his daughter. He left his apartments only to attend the king. All other hours he’d spend at Shahrazad’s bedside.
But it was not until the vizier had almost given up hope that his long vigil at last had its reward. For Shahrazad’s limbs stirred, and thus she spoke: “Be comforted, my father. For I am still alive and will remain so.”
But when she opened her eyes, the vizier learned a bitter thing. Though his daughter lived, she had not escaped the fever unscathed. She was blind, like her mother
before her. From that day forward the vizier beheld a change in his daughter. Though her love for him remained constant, Shahrazad now made good the boast she had made to Maju beside the fountain: She never left the vizier’s quarters, never received visitors. Instead, she schooled herself in how to live alone.
Also from that time forward the tales about her began to spread. Throughout the land it was whispered that Shahrazad was as her mother Maju before her had been. A drabardi. A storyteller. And those who had been with the vizier when he had first taken Maju to wife remembered the prophecy of her people: that Maju’s child would come in time to be the greatest storyteller of all.
Shahrazad and her father mourned Maju the Storyteller for a year and a day. At the end of this time, though their hearts were still heavy, they put aside their mourning robes. That very same day, as if he had only been waiting for the moment, the king, Shahrayar’s father, called his vizier before him.
“Old friend,” he said. “You have served me well. Now, I desire to serve you well also. I will give to you a beautiful wife to ease your grief, for the time has come to put an end to sorrow.”
Now, the vizier had no desire for a beautiful wife. He had no desire for another wife of any kind. For, save for the love he had for Shahrazad, he had buried his heart with Maju the Storyteller. But the vizier had not served the king for so many years without learning his ways. He knew a command when he heard one. And so he bowed his head and said, “My lord, you do me too much honor.”
“Nonsense,” said the king. And he brought forth the bride that he had chosen. She was a great court lady, as beautiful as the morning. He married her to the vizier that very hour. And so, though he had set out alone for his audience with the king, when the vizier returned to his quarters he brought with him a bride.
Now, the vizier’s new wife was proud and ambitious. Never had she doubted her own value or her beauty, for all her life others had told her of it. She had not loved Maju the Storyteller, and she had no wish to love her daughter.
The Storyteller's Daughter Page 2
